


Black Smoke Rises

by Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains



Series: Of Tears and Ash [1]
Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Destruction, Gen, Loose Conqueror AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 15:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains/pseuds/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains
Summary: Smoke fills the sky.  A pair of adventurers investigate.





	Black Smoke Rises

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction is set in an AU which I have titled "Of Tears and Ash." It is the first entry in what I hope will be an ongoing saga. This AU diverges greatly from canon; the characters may be recognizable, but their stories will be unfamiliar.

The azure firmament was disrupted.  Tendrils of cloud and shadow snaked their way into the welkin, like the tentacles of some monstrous squid, which had climbed up out of the sea and learned to travel the hills and valleys.  The origin of the rising haze was nebulous, concealed by the natural ebb and flow of the countryside.  The wind had not yet carried the miasma of the vapor across the foothills, but it would arrive presently, of that there was no question.

 

            The crouching figure slowly raised his head, scrutinizing the empyrean with a sagacious eye.  His gaze rested there for a moment, focusing on the ebony plumes. After a moment, he slowly rose from his crouch, his regard still fixed skyward.  Time dragged by at a sluggish pace as he considered the distant smoke. At long last, he drew his stare away and turned to his companion, sitting wearily on a nearby rock.  “Orestes, what would your council be?  Should we investigate?”

 

            Orestes, who had been concentrating on sharpening his dagger, looked up.  He too considered the smoke, though for a much briefer time than his standing companion. “Do you wish to investigate it Iphicles?” He inquired, already sure of the answer.  Iphicles raised an eyebrow at this query, an answer enough for Orestes. He stood and moved to join his associate.  They shared a perfunctory nod and without further conversation, set off in the direction of the vapor at an expeditious pace.

 

            They grew near to the smoke as the morn gave way to afternoon, the day progressing on, an inexorable constant.  The pair stood upon a high ridge now, looking down at source of the fumes.  In the dale below lay the smoldering remnants of what had not long ago been a village, of considerable size, it appeared.  The sable billows that had risen from the settlement earlier in the day had now dissipated considerably.  Only small fires still burned among the wreckage.  Orestes spoke, his voice tight, grief evident in it, “Cirra has fallen.” The statement sought no reply.  It was as somber as it was indisputable.

 

            Iphicles cast his eyes about the ridge and discerned a meager path that lead steeply down the ridge and into the vale.  He nudged Orestes and gestured towards it. Together, they descended, no words passing between them.  The path was rocky and difficult to traverse.  They were forced to progress gradually, until they eventually reached the valley floor.

 

            Once they had reached the ground, the walk to the village was brief.  However, the duo maintained their steady velocity and approached with circumspection, alert for any disturbance among the blackened ruins.  All remained still and silent though.  Nothing broke the oppressive sensation of death that hung thick in the air.  Entering the village proper, the companions were able to fully survey the damage.  It was a grotesque sight to behold.  In unison they shivered at some impalpable breeze.

 

            The village had been eviscerated; only skeletons of buildings remained.  Bodies lay scattered left and right, many badly burned, intermingled freely with all manner of debris.  The very earth itself seemed saturated with blood.  Small fires still smoldered and flickered among the rubble here and there, creating an infernal ambience.  As the partners scanned the remains, a trio of great carrions birds took flight, their feasting interrupted by the new arrivals.

 

            Orestes stooped and regarded an open patch of ground intently, his fingers tracing the prints of both boots and horses. Simultaneously, Iphicles investigated a nearby corpse that did not appear to belong to some hapless village. It was but a moment before he called over to Orestes “well, I’d say we can identify the invaders.”  Orestes proceeded to join his friend.  Jointly, they glared down at the cadaver of a soldier, whose cuirass bore an unmistakable crest: the silhouette of a panther’s paw, claws extended.  “A soldier of the conqueror,” Orestes spat, a sudden wrath filling his countenance.  He grimaced and directed his eyes upward. “Are you happy with the work of your bitch, Ares?”  He whispered spitefully.

 

            “How can one who kills and destroys without impetus fulfill the will of any god?”  Iphicles questioned, though he expected no answer.  “Such actions are certainly a travesty of divine will.”  He declared acrimoniously.  Orestes turned, his face distorted with rage.  “Who can say for certain?  Yet, if this is the ‘benevolence’ of Olympus, then the gods are but demons of a fairer air.”  “Your words are wise, my friend,” Iphicles remarked.

 

            The sound of rubble shifting in the remains of a nearby house immediately drew the companions’ attention.  They moved to examine it with rapidity.  What they discovered precipitated swift action.  A body was trapped under a portion of charred roofing, but unlike the rest of the former villagers, it appeared to be moving. Without delay, Orestes and Iphicles worked in tandem to remove the fragment.  Underneath lay the form of a girl, apparently unconscious, but beginning to stir.  Her body was badly bruised, covered in various cuts and scrapes, and her once-blonde hair was turned to grey by ash and dirt.  Her breaths came shallow and ragged.

 

            Orestes attempted to lift the girl, and finding her to be quite light, hastily raised her and carried her out of the shell of the house.  Iphicles followed along, looking about for any ideal intact structure where they could treat her.  Seeing none, he motioned Orestes toward the well that was positioned roughly in the center of the former community.  Orestes followed Iphicles’s lead and proceeded to lower the girl and lean her up against the side of the well as best he could.  It was at this moment that her eyes fluttered open. Instantaneously, they were filled with fear.  She struggled to rise, but found herself too weak to do so, and collapsed against the well. She looked up at her two rescuers, a sorrowful determination written across her features.  “Please, just kill me.  I’m not any good in bed, I swear.  It would be bad for you,” she murmured, her voice soft and broken.

 

            “We have no such intentions,” Iphicles assured her, crouching by her side.  Orestes bent and offered her his water-skin, which she feebly accepted, raising it to her lips, her eyes still fixed upon the pair.  After taking a healthy draught, she lowered the water-skin away and spoke once again, “then who are you and why do I still live?”

 

            Iphicles answered without hesitation, “my name is Iphicles, and this is my compatriot Orestes,” he indicated his standing partner. The girl nodded slightly, processing this information.  Iphicles continued, replying to her second question, “and as to why you survived the assault on your village, that I cannot answer.”

 

            “Are there any others?”  The girl asked, though from her expression, it appeared she already knew the answer.  Orestes offered a sad smile and shook his head.  The girl lowered her gaze to the ground.  When she raised her head once again, she spoke with anger in her voice. “I suppose you’d like to know who I am. Once, I would have said Callisto of Cirra.  Now, that name is lost to the fire and the sword.  I am Callisto alone.”


End file.
